turnedtoproust: (all smiles: by snowchimes)
Donald Scripps ([personal profile] turnedtoproust) wrote2012-04-02 03:14 pm
Entry tags:

[Backdated to March]

Scripps should have known that true horrors lurked in their midst. He'd had proof of that in many aspects -- from the fictional roaming amidst them to the truly horrifying number of opportunities the weather gave Dakin to show off -- but the worst nightmare yet came to him in the form of an inconspicuous reel.

Mamma Mia.

Honestly, how was he to ever have known? And now, the horror is before him, presented in such a fashion that he swears he'll never manage to release the image from behind his burned eyelids. There's truly only one possible solution to this travesty, which is to protect the reel and immediately flee to their hut to find Posner. He's out of breath by the time he arrives, but it's entirely worth it.

"Emergency," he says, nodding back in the direction of the Compound. "Trust me, you'll thank me for it." And already, he's begun to think of the myriad of ways in which he can possibly torture Dakin with this. He wonders if it's possible to somehow arrange for screenings of this, hour on the hour, for the next foreseeable month.
spanielheart: (012)

[personal profile] spanielheart 2012-04-03 12:08 am (UTC)(link)
Emergency is clearly a trifle hyperbolic if Scripps' outward appearance is any indicator. Panting, yes, but positively delighted in that giddy, self-satisfied way that would prompt anxiety in Posner were it anyone else. Cross-legged on his creaky bamboo bed, the smaller boy peers wide, cynical eyes up from the thick book of poetry in his lap.

"I shudder to think how you'd react in an actual emergency," Posner calmly says as he takes in Scripps' disheveled state. "Have you run all the way here?"
spanielheart: (011)

[personal profile] spanielheart 2012-04-03 12:44 am (UTC)(link)
Posner emits a small, disgruntled squeak as the tome bounces off the edge of the bed and lands open upon the floor with a thump, pages crumpled. Aside from a token pause to malign both the state of the book and the state of his life, however, he puts up no resistance: This is, as he understands it, his particular lot in life. To be pulled, occasionally without permission, whither his friends shall go.

"I've not even got shoes on!" he cries, stumbling through the hut after Scripps. Conveniently, a pair of loafers have been abandoned by the front door, and Posner nearly pitches over as he attempts to shove them upon his feet and hurry on at the same time. "Can't you just tell me— Bugger, these are Dakin's."
spanielheart: (008)

[personal profile] spanielheart 2012-04-03 01:12 am (UTC)(link)
"It isn't on purpose," Posner insists of the shoes, and chucks them off at the bottom of the porch steps to retrieve later. "He has disappointingly small feet," he mutters with a backwards glance to the footwear. If there's any truth in the mythic correlation between foot size and other areas, he fancies it's no wonder Dakin behaves the way he does.

"I'm going out barefoot," he adds with a pointed look at Scripps. "This had better be good."
spanielheart: (001)

[personal profile] spanielheart 2012-04-03 01:34 am (UTC)(link)
With that sort of endorsement, there's little to do but get on with it, presumably to the Compound, where they can watch this vaunted cinematic treasure. Ducking his head as they walk, Posner reads the title printed neatly across the film canister's label.

"Mamma Mia?" he inquires, lifting curious eye to Scripps. "Please tell me this isn't all over a cooking program or Italian-themed pornography."
Edited 2012-04-03 01:34 (UTC)
spanielheart: (025)

[personal profile] spanielheart 2012-04-03 02:12 am (UTC)(link)
Despite cleaving so desperately to the Holy Mother, Scripps has never indicated any disapproval in Posner's homosexuality in the more obtuse sense, so thankfully this exercise can't be meant to cure him of that particular affliction. No, there's really only one thing Scripps could be referring to.

"Dakin?" Posner gasps, eyes round in sudden and gleeful anticipation as he looks back to the can in Scripps' hands. "Dakin's in that? Is he ridiculous? Oh please tell me he's ridiculous."
spanielheart: (024)

[personal profile] spanielheart 2012-04-05 10:52 pm (UTC)(link)
"What?" Surely, Scripps is exaggerating. No version of Dakin, no possible configuration of circumstances for someone with his face, could ever consent to ABBA.

"You're kidding me," Posner continues, fingers grasped at Scripps' closest sleeve. "Is this a joke?"
spanielheart: (006)

[personal profile] spanielheart 2012-04-11 01:40 am (UTC)(link)
"Now you really are kidding me. I may be infatuated with Dakin, but I'm not blind. If there was ever anyone who needed to be taken down a notch, it's him." Posner dutifully lifted a hand and placed it firmly atop his breast. "You have my sworn promise that I'll not be dissuaded for fear that Dakin's appeal will be compromised. His trousers are less and less appealing by the day, I hardly think it will matter."
spanielheart: (024)

[personal profile] spanielheart 2012-04-12 02:22 am (UTC)(link)
There seems little else to say at that point, given that Scripps has apparently decided further details must be viewed to be fully appreciated, and there's only so much speculating Posner's willing to do when the topic is Dakin under the influence of disco.

"Where am I going?" he finally asks once they've pushed through the Compound's front door into the cool, stale air within. "Will this be a public exhibition or our private horror?"
spanielheart: (011)

[personal profile] spanielheart 2012-04-13 12:02 am (UTC)(link)
"Would you please get on with it already," Posner insists. "If I require alcohol, I'm sure that can be attended to after. It's cruel, you refusing to tell me what all this is about and then suggesting I ought to go make a sandwich when we're nearly there."
spanielheart: (008)

[personal profile] spanielheart 2012-04-16 11:17 pm (UTC)(link)
It begins rather innocuously, not unlike a Walt Disney film with an innocent young girl and a song, but then explodes into disco, attractive older gentlemen and screeching women.

"This is already horrifying," Posner says, lifting a hand to his throat with a grimace. "Is that Meryl Streep?" Somebody's come a long way down from where they were last time he checked.
spanielheart: (022)

[personal profile] spanielheart 2012-04-19 12:32 am (UTC)(link)
"Isn't that girl on the island?" Posner asks with a critical squint at the screen, allowing Scripps to redirect him only under sufferance. "The main one, the blon-"

Lips parted, his voice halts abruptly in his throat, for Dakin—Or someone who looks uncannily like Dakin—has literally burst onto the screen, all a-rumple and with hair that looks as if it's not seen a comb in a fortnight.

"…did he—" Posner stutters, agog. "Was that a…shoulder shimmy?"
spanielheart: (024)

[personal profile] spanielheart 2012-04-24 01:30 am (UTC)(link)
"He'll never live this down," Posner slowly replies, caught between his delight at this disco leverage and his horror on Dakin's behalf. Were it anyone else at all, there might be some guilt attached to the forthcoming and presumably never-ending mocking Dakin was going to endure because of his cheerful clone.

"Not ever."

A thought occurs to him then, and he pries his eyes from the embarrassment of an Oscar-nominated actress jumping about with a feather boa and peers at Scripps with a whole new level of conflicted shock.

"…he doesn't sing. Surely."
spanielheart: (007)

[personal profile] spanielheart 2012-04-29 11:16 pm (UTC)(link)
As it turns out, the waiting isn't long. Unsettled as Posner is by the oddly chipper doppelganger on the screen, he still manages to settle into his typical appreciative silence at the sight of the boy with his shirt off. This, however, is rapidly and thoroughly ruined.

This boy, whomever he is, has as little business as Dakin does in singing. Posner shrinks in his place on the sofa, hands at his face like he might hide his eyes and then covertly peek through his fingers as one does during a horror film. He is suddenly and acutely embarrassed—For Dakin, for himself, for Scripps, possibly for everyone who has ever met or thought to meet any of them.
thesubjunctive: (Default)

[personal profile] thesubjunctive 2012-05-03 02:30 am (UTC)(link)
Dakin had a sense of timing that could be seen as either wonderful or completely terrible depending on who was judging it. At the moment he chose to walk into the room, whatever ridiculously loud song and dance number the others had been watching had just ended, giving him (what he thought)was a nicely timed lull in the film to walk in and make a cutting remark about the state of their cinematic tastes.

Until he actually came in and noted their varying expressions with no small degree of confusion. It wasn't quite the reaction he'd have expected from what had sounded like Eurovision The Musical.

"What on earth are you watching?"
spanielheart: (018)

[personal profile] spanielheart 2012-05-03 02:35 am (UTC)(link)
Posner lets out the most undignified squeak at the sound of Dakin's voice, and immediately proceeds to all but melt into the couch cushions, unaccountably ashamed at himself. Eyes wide, he peers from Dakin to Scripps and then back again.

"Please never sing," he says as he pulls a throw pillow over in front of himself like a shield.
thesubjunctive: (Default)

[personal profile] thesubjunctive 2012-05-03 01:13 pm (UTC)(link)
"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" Dakin asked, his expression turning from something more smug to a confused frown. He didn't know what his singing voice (that he'd never thought was that bad to begin with) had to do with anything, but based on Scripps and Posner's reactions he wasn't sure he would like the answer when he found out. But that certainly wasn't about to stop him from asking.
spanielheart: (018)

[personal profile] spanielheart 2012-05-08 01:05 am (UTC)(link)
For a long, tense moment no one does anything. Scripps is shaking from poorly-contained laughter, Dakin is looking more discomfited by the moment and Posner meditates on how satisfying it all is when they're all so used to Dakin being cock of the walk. The way he acts, you'd think he never made a misstep in his life; a little embarrassment will be good for him, surely.

Flinging the pillow aside, Posner leans forward, rewinds the film reel to the beginning of Dakin's unfortunate musical number and then motions to the screen after pressing play.

"Dear god, I'm not sure I can watch this again," he admits, covering his eyes with one pale hand.